Mortal
by tempus terere
Summary: Hold Infinity in the palm of your hand and Eternity in an hour. — DawnPaul
1. Hold

**Warning:** Vampires. Yes, you heard me. The internet has finally won.  
**Notes:** This fic is based pretty much on My Headcanon only. If you happen to be an employee of the police, a paramedic, a doctor, a vampire or generally more knowledgable than me and find any mistakes, feel free to inform me about them.  
**Notes 2:** YOU VOTE IKARISHIPPING, I DELIVER IKARISHIPPING. Kind of.

* * *

**Mortal**

It happened on a Friday night.

Twenty-one-year-old Paul Heartnet, ambitious pokémon trainer and owner of various badges, had just finished a five-hour long training session with his pokemon in Ecruteak Forest and was currently on his way back to the local pokémon centre. He was exhausted and longed for sleep, but he was content with what he and his pokemon had accomplished that day. At this rate, his victory against Ecruteak City's gym leader Morty would pose no problem.

In order to cut the remaining route to the centre short, Paul veered off the main road and steered into a narrow backstreet Nurse Joy had recommended to him before he'd set off. The alley was lined with tall brick walls, protecting the surrounding estates from curious stares, and wound its way through the city's suburbs like a nimble ekans, sometimes at almost ridiculous angles.

For a while, the only sound in the alley was Paul's own breathing, as if everything else, the city's noise, the wind tugging at the trees, had been completely drowned out.

He kept walking, following the lane's lead farther into town. He didn't know how long he would be underway but he guessed he would be reaching his destination soon. According to Nurse Joy, after 300 metres, there would be a fork in the road, the left way looping back toward the outskirts of the city, whereas the right one would guide him directly to the pokémon centre.

Arriving at another turn in the alley, Paul halted. Hadn't he heard something just now?

He was enveloped by absolute silence.

But then, a scream. Paul froze. Footsteps, frantic and loud, resounded in the street, coming from just around the corner. Another scream, and a nasty cracking noise.

And suddenly it was quiet again.

Paul stood there, as if glued to the spot, and waited for something to happen. When everything stayed still, he slowly ducked around the corner. In the dull glow of the moon he spotted a dark figure cowering over the motionless body of a young woman.

Paul's mind raced, trying to figure out what to do. Obviously, he had been overhearing a serious crime, murder by the look of things. Still, something was odd. What was that person—the perpetrator—doing, so close to the girl's body? Paul squinted his eyes but it was impossible to make out anything else in the haze of the night, all he could discern was the vague shape of a person looming over the outline of a female body lying on the ground.

Taking a deep breath, Paul dug his hand in the pocket of his parka and grabbed a pokéball. He wasn't sure what his worn-out pokémon could do against a homicidal maniac but what else was he to do? The next police station was at least a fifteen-minute walk (or a ten-minute race) away from here and he didn't have a flying type with him.

As gently and noiselessly as possible, Paul released Magmotar from his pokéball. Maybe he was able to trap the guy over there with a fire and draw attention to the crime scene at the same time.

With a meaningful look Paul indicated to his pokémon that he should stay still until the moment his trainer gave him a sign.

Then he took another glance behind the corner. Nothing had changed. The human-shaped shadow sat perched over the girl's lifeless body, unmoving.

It was now or never.

Paul gave one strong nod toward Magmotar, and the fire-type followed his trainer's command immediately. The flame he fired was large, even larger than Paul had expected, and its strangely flickering light seemed to swallow up everything around the boy. He tried to catch a glimpse of the perpetrator, but to no avail.

Crouching down, he rolled under the flames to the girl's body. The dark figure hunkering next to her was gone. How he should have skirted around the blazing fire within this little time, Paul had no idea.

Yelling at Magmotar to cease his attack, he bent down to pick up the girl and get her away from the flames. As he hauled her up over his shoulder and ran back to safety where his pokémon was waiting for him, he thought that her face looked vaguely familiar, though he had no name or memory to attach it to. Gingerly, he put her down and removed some strands of her long dark hair from her throat, in order to check her pulse, and discovered that it was almost entirely covered in blood. He swallowed. Was that what that shadow had been doing, sitting beside her and—slicing open her throat? But there was no cut, just a steady flow of warm red coming from two small wounds just above her collarbone. Even though they were only slightly bigger than the prick of an injection needle, they went deep into the girl's flesh, deliberately aiming at the fresh, oxygenated blood of her arteries.

Above him Magmotar gave a low growl, as if to remind his trainer that he would have to hurry up if he really wanted to save her. Paul dipped his head in agreement, shrugging out of his parka, and ripped off the left sleeve of his shirt. It wasn't going to hold back the bleeding for long, but hopefully it would last until the fire brigade arrived.

The flames began to spread. Thick clouds of opaque smoke obscured the air.

Calling back his magmotar, Paul could not stop his gaze from wandering back to the girl's neck. The sleeve he had slung around it was now soaked with her blood, tinting the originally blue fabric a disturbingly beautiful shade of claret.

In that moment the sirens of several fire engines shrilled from behind Paul, and he let out a relieved sigh. The fire fighters' floodlights reminded him of dawn in the morning—

Something far off in the back of his mind shifted.

Dawn.

Suddenly it occurred to him; it was like a jigsaw in reverse, with all the pieces falling apart, all the memories disintegrating into tiny, tattered fractures. Dawn. The girl's name was Dawn.


	2. Infinity

Dawn didn't look that different when she was dead. All white and red, and blurring at the edges. Almost like a ghost.

Watching the paramedics wrap up her body in grey plastic, Paul waited to feel something. Some big emotion. But nothing came. A perfect vacuum, he was completely hollow inside.

He shifted, still staring at the body bag, and felt his left arm itch under the rough material of his parka.

When the paramedics left and the fire was wholly extinguished, the police took their place. They came in a large group of several forensic people, all clad in dark overalls, and a couple of Officer Jennies. One of them came over to Paul to question him about the circumstances of the crime.

"Hi," she greeted and extended her right hand. Shaking it briefly, Paul noticed a peculiar gleam in her eyes that reminded him of kitchen knives. "You were the one who found her, right? I'm really sorry I have to bother you with this—you probably want get some rest—but I have to ask you some questions first. Number one, can you please show me your ID?"

Paul took out his pokédex and handed it to her. He felt a strange reservation toward that woman, it went beyond anything that was empirically observable, rooting somewhere deep in his subconscious.

Fishing a small notebook and a pen out of the pockets of her uniform, she copied down the data on his ID before returning it with an artificial smile. It was obvious she distrusted him just like he distrusted her. "And what were you doing here so late at night?"

"I had been training with my pokémon in the forest and was on my way back to the pokémon centre."

"You're a pokémon trainer?" She seemed surprised at this. "Where are you from?"

Paul gave a curt nod. "Veilstone City, Sinnoh."

As she scribbled down his answer she continued, "Did you know the victim?"

A picture of the girl's lifeless face flashed through his mind. It made him remember the last time he had seen her, seven years ago, after his loss against Ash. He pushed the memory away.

"No," he said because he didn't. Not really. A few minutes ago he hadn't even been able to remember her name and soon, he told himself, he would forget about it again, anyway. And, if he tried hard enough, one day he might be able to shake off the memory of her ashen, dead face, as well.

Officer Jenny was eying him with unconcealed suspicion now, although he was pretty confident in himself when it came to pretending. (It was what he had been doing his entire life, after all.)

"Did you see anything, then? Anyone suspicious?" she asked, her eyes narrowing.

"I don't know what's suspicious around here and what's not. I'm not from here." Paul knew he was being too cocky; knew that her impression of him was deteriorating fast and that this was not going to be of benefit for him later on, but he'd had enough of her by now. All he wanted was a good night's sleep.

"Well, Mr Heartnet," she said with an unnerving emphasis on his name, "here's my card. If you happen to recall anything, inform me right away, please."

Excusing herself, she scurried off to her colleagues.

* * *

A flicker. _The image of a small, bloody mess crying its newborn lungs out. _Another flicker. _A pair of two large hand__s passing the little pile of flesh into the shaky embrace of a woman, her face blurred, bleeding into the white of the walls. _

Cut.

_Two hazy silhouettes thrashing out and screaming at each other. _

Something in her mind fell into place. A sense of déjà-vu overcame her, one of the voices seemed familiar.

Mom, she thought.

But who was "she"? What were those fractured pictures she was seeing?

It was as though all her senses had been wrapped up in cotton, muffling her concentration and lulling her back into unconsciousness. It might be nice, she thought, staying this way forever, without knowing. Without knowing anything. Like an empty sheet of paper.

Yeah, that'd be nice.

* * *

The gym was situated next to the ruins of Brass Tower in the northern woods of the city; a little farther west stood the Bell Tower, jutting out from the trees like a giant spear. A square of vast, white walls encompassed the whole compound, with one single gate at the southern side of the walls, allowing entrance only to authorised personnel. Two monks were set on guard, observing the people passing the street.

They watched the boy intently as he loped down the main road, heading directly towards them. He was in his late teens, early twenties maybe, and had an almost lanky build, his limbs seeming a little too long in comparison to the rest of his body. His mauve hair was pulled back into a sloppy ponytail, enough strands sticking out to hide most of his face.

"Good morning," the larger monk said to him. "What can we do for you?"

"I signed up for a gym battle yesterday. My name is Paul Heartnet."

The other monk turned to a small wooden board with several pieces of paper pinned to it on the wall behind him and studied it for a moment. Then he looked at his partner and gave a noncommittal grunt. Together they unlocked and pushed open the gates.

"Do you know where it is?" the larger monk asked, wiping away a thin layer of sweat from his forehead.

Paul nodded.

"Good luck, then," the monk said. "You'll need it."

The path to the gym curved in a wide sweep around the Burned Tower through the darkening forest. The trees flanking the way on both sides were like a wall of dark pillars, soaring almost endlessly into the faint blue of the morning sky.

Hands tucked away in the pockets of his parka, Paul followed the trail until it opened into a large clearing. Here, on a flattened hill, towered the gym. The building was ancient, like the town itself, and in sound condition. The timber-framed façade looked as though it had been renewed recently and the black tiles on the roof glistened like the scales of a garchomp. A long flight of stairs led to the stately entrance.

Below stood the figure of a man, leaning against the withered remnants of a tree. He was tall, with an azure frontlet around his head and blond shoulder-long hair and amber eyes. His mouth delineated a lazy smile.

"Hi," he said and disengaged himself from the stunted trunk. "I've been waiting for you."

He approached Paul who noticed the suppleness and controlled power lying in his movements. He stopped a few metres in front of the boy.

"This isn't the first time we meet, is it?"

Paul was mildly impressed that Morty managed to recognise him after almost ten years. He must have had hundreds of challengers in the meantime and normally nobody made much of an effort to remember Paul, either because they had lost to him or because of his attitude.

"If you know, then why are you asking?"

Morty shrugged, grinning. "Just trying to make some conversation."

"I'm not a very conversational sort of person. So can we just skip the pointless banter and battle?"

Morty's grin became stony. "You already beat me, right? You have your badge. Why'd you want to fight me a second time?"

"Does it make a difference?"

"Not really," Morty said, adjusting his headband. "I have to deny your request either way."

Paul raised an eyebrow. "And why's that?"

"The police," Morty replied. "They're prohibiting all gym battles for the time being. It has something to do with that murder last night."

* * *

Dawn woke up.

Her head hurt and all of her muscles felt leaden. Her body tingled weakly as though she was having a fever. She opened her eyes and was met with infinite, swirling darkness.

Panic welled up in her stomach. Propping herself on her elbows, she made an attempt to sit up. When she was about halfway up, her head collided with something hard and cold and she let herself fall back on the ground.

Oh Arceus, she thought. What happened to me?

With trembling hands she groped around herself in order to determine her surroundings. She lay in some sort of box, probably made out of steel or an equally strong metal, and had been covered with a light sheet of linen.

Dawn sucked in a deep breath. Or she tried to, anyway. Upon inhaling, her throat tightened and her lungs felt like they were going to burst.

Another wave of fear crashed into her. What was wrong with her? Why couldn't she breathe? She—

She couldn't be dead, right?


	3. in the

On his way back to the gate Paul walked a detour. His body was tense with frustration and confusion. It was as though a broken elastic spring had come loose in his brain and now bored itself through his skullcap.

He was trapped, that much was clear. The Jennies wouldn't let him leave the city until they had found Dawn's murderer, proving he did not have anything to do with her death. That was why they'd temporarily banned all gym battles; they sensed that his second fight with Morty held a special meaning for him.

Paul thought of his older brother back in Veilstone who had sent him on this journey, challenging him to repeat it one more time in order to determine if he was able to change his way of training as well as his view on the purpose of pokémon. Reggie was always kind and understanding about everything except for this one detail in a trainer's philosophy and Paul had learnt why during his voyage across Sinnoh. Ash had taught him what it meant to have a heart and to recognize it as something important because it was both strong _and _fragile.

Ash, who managed to be frighteningly far-sighted and ridiculously dense at the same time.

Ash, whose friend was dead, killed right in front of Paul's eyes.

* * *

There was noise outside Dawn's prison, like someone pushing open an extraordinarily heavy door and the sharp echo of footfalls approaching her. Suddenly, the metal box moved, gliding away from the dark into a blazing whiteness without a sound. Dawn blinked rapidly, her eyes burning in the face of such illumination, and brushed the linen sheet aside. In front of herself she could make out the vague outline of a person.

"Don't be afraid," the person began in a firm but soothing tone. It was the voice of a woman, foreign yet strangely maternal. "I am here to help you. I—," she hesitated, "—I am the one who created you."

"_You_ made me like this?" Dawn didn't know whether she was supposed to be mad or terrified. "What did you do to me? Why can't I breathe even though I'm alive?"

"Don't be afraid," the woman repeated. "I will answer all of your questions later, I promise, but we don't have much time. Come with me."

Despite her fear Dawn realized that she had no other choice but to trust this woman for now. Carefully she climbed out of the box, feeling like a freshly hatched insect that has yet to acquaint itself with its new form. When her feet finally met solid ground, her eyes had adjusted themselves to the bright lighting conditions.

She found herself in a long hall that reminded her of a surgical suite. The metal box which she had been confined in turned out to be one of several dozens of drawers that lined the wall to her right, while the remaining three had been painted a sterile white. Scattered across the hall were three empty operation tables and another three smaller ones where medical utensils had been put in preparation. At the end of the room towered an enormous door standing slightly ajar. It was the only exit.

When she turned her attention to the woman who'd freed her, Dawn felt at first surprise, followed by relief spreading through her at the familiar sight.

"Do you see now that I am not your enemy?" the woman smiled and held out her hand.

Dawn took it gladly.

* * *

Paul exited the delimited area through the same gate he had entered it, reaping curious stares from the two monks, and noticed a motorcycle drawing closer from the main street. It screeched to a halt directly in front of him. At the side it read _POLICE_ in bold blue letters.

"You are Paul Heartnet, am I right?" Officer Jenny asked, not bothering to take off her helmet.

Paul nodded briefly. "What do you want from me?"

"Your presence is required at the morgue."

The monks behind Paul squeaked in shock.

His eyes narrowed. Why did the police need him at the morgue? Did they want him to take another look at the corpse, perhaps?

"What for?" He demanded.

Officer Jenny shrugged. "I don't know. I just have orders to escort you there right away. Apparently, it is very urgent."

Paul gripped the pokéballs in the pocket of his parka, fingers clenching and unclenching around them in an irregular pattern. "Very well," he said grudgingly and boarded the bike.

Officer Jenny handed him a helmet, waited for him to put it on and then started the engine.

"Hold on to my back," she advised, before the motor roared to life like a tyranitar after its evolution and, with unexpected speed, the bike launched itself into a side road.

A little belated Paul clutched Officer Jenny's waist as they hurtled southward.

After about ten minutes Officer Jenny stopped the bike in front of a small, nondescript building. Paul took off his helmet and gave it back to her. Dismounting from the vehicle, he watched her stow it away along with her own in a hollow space underneath the seat. Once she was done, she inclined her head toward the building, motioning him to follow her.

Treading inside, Officer Jenny headed directly toward the elevator, niched far off in the back of the entrance hall, and pushed the button for going downward. Almost instantaneously the elevator _pinged_; the doors opened and she went inside, Paul trailing behind her. In the cab she pressed another button on a metal panel to her left and the doors closed. With a rattling noise the elevator stirred and moved toward the basement.

The elevator _pinged _once again and behind the opening doors appeared a long, dimly illuminated corridor. Officer Jenny led him to a tall grey door looming at its end, and pulled at the handle. It revealed an ample hall, most likely the main mortuary, the left wall entirely covered in metal drawers for the corpses. Halfway across the room stood another Officer Jenny, scribbling away on a small notebook. It was the same Jenny who had questioned him the night before. Paul was not quite certain how he was able to tell, but it was something about the way she carried herself that distinguished her from the others.

At the sound of the door being dragged open she lifted her head, her eyes coming to rest on Paul. "Mr. Heartnet, am I correct?" With a fluid movement of her right hand she beckoned him to come closer. "Thank you for coming."

Paul complied with her prompt and came to a stop right in front of her. "Why am I here?" he asked.

"Quite a spunky one, aren't you, Mr. Heartnet?" She grinned. It wasn't a very pleasant sort of grin. It was the kind that made you think of razor blades glistening in the pale glow of the moon shortly before they cut open your chest. "I have a simple question for you."

Tugging away her notebook and pencil, she grabbed for one of the drawers on the wall next to her and pulled at it. In it lay Dawn's corpse, Paul assumed; he couldn't tell for sure until Officer Jenny drew the white linen cloth from the girl's face.

He felt his insides churn at the sight. Dawn's eyes closed and her lips slightly parted, she bore almost no sign of having been atrociously murdered just the night before. Rather it appeared as though she were sleeping, solely the distinct lack of respiration testified that she was indeed dead.

"Here." Gently Officer Jenny turned the girl's head to the side, exposing two minuscule marks on the crook of her neck, and pointed at them. "What do you think of that?"

Paul stared at the small wounds and experienced a hard time concentrating as nausea swelled up in his throat.

Officer Jenny continued, "This looks like a bitemark, doesn't it? Have you any idea where it comes from?"

Incapable of bringing himself to speak, Paul shook his head. He couldn't pinpoint why, yet looking at Dawn's dead body jarred him off balance, touching something deep within the core of his being. Maybe it was because it made him remember Ash, and his fear of how he would react if he ever learnt that Paul hadn't been able to save one of his best friends, even though, rationally, Paul was very aware that it made no sense to blame himself for her death.

"It's quite strange," Officer Jenny said and scrutinized him as if to search for some fatal weakness. "This is the only physical damage we could find. We know that she died of blood loss, however, we can't find any pokémon—or human—whose teeth fit this type of injury."

"Well," Paul cleared his throat. "That's too bad, isn't it?"

Officer Jenny's jaw set almost unnoticeably. "Indeed," she said. "So you mean to say that you have not seen who or what might have left such a mark?"

"No, I haven't," he answered. "I can't tell you anything more than I did last night."

Something in her eyes seemed to darken. "Well, then, this should be all. You may leave."

* * *

The woman guided Dawn outside the hall into a dark passage; this time, Dawn's eyes adapted to the change of illumination in a matter of seconds, and the woman, too, appeared to be able to make her way through the blackness without any trouble. They kept walking, descending a narrow flight of emergency stairs, until they arrived in what seemed to be a foyer. Dawn's savior unlocked the door at the front and went ahead outside in the crisp air of the night.

"Thank you," Dawn said. "You know, for getting me out of there."

The woman gave a wistful sigh. "Don't thank me. After all, I'm the one who—did this to you in the first place." She paused. "Anyway, let's get you some clothes. I have a few in my car."

At that Dawn froze, and looked down her body. It was true, she _was_ naked, but, somehow, she hadn't realized. "I didn't—"

"It's because you're dead, technically. You can feel neither warmth nor the cold."

Feeling strangely empty inside, Dawn followed the woman to her old VW.


	4. palm

Around noon of the following day Paul woke up. His body felt heavy, as if made of lead, and his eyelids scratched terribly when he tried to lift them. He really didn't feel like getting up. There was nothing waiting for him out there in the city, anyway. It made no difference if he stayed in bed for the day, and maybe the one after that.

Suddenly he heard a loud, dull sound from the door.

Paul groaned and, in his post-sleep haze, nearly tripped over his own feet as he tried to make his way across the room.

It knocked again.

Bumping against a chair, he grumbled a string of low curses, and pulled open the door.

It was Ash.

Taller, broader, baby fat replaced by taut muscles and angular cheekbones — but it was Ash.

"Hi," he greeted somewhat awkwardly, hands buried deep in the pockets of his jeans.

Paul made the futile attempt to find something eloquent to say, and settled on a noncommittal grunt, because that was the best all-purpose reply he knew. He was aware he should be spouting incredulous questions, like what Ash was even doing here in the first place and how in the name of Mew he'd managed to find him, but he just couldn't muster up the strength to care. He was too tired, too jaded.

Ash bit his lip, strangely self-conscious. "Um, do you have a minute?"

Paul hesitated, and made a vague gesture for him to come inside.

Together they sat down on his bed, staring at their feet, and waited for the other to break the silence. Paul figured their reunion was almost just as uncomfortable for Ash as it was for him, after five years of little to no correspondence and thousands of kilometers separating them.

"You're, ah, probably wondering why I'm here," Ash began eventually, scratching the back of his neck. "Dawn's mother, she, well, she called me yesterday."

Paul pressed his teeth together, trying to bite back his shock.

Ash knew.

And that he didn't explain _why_ Dawn's mother had called him showed that he knew about Paul's role, too.

"How did you know I was there and where to find me?"

"Well, when I got here, I didn't actually know about that until I asked Nurse Joy how I could find out about — what happened."

Paul pursed his lips. "You don't trust the police?"

Ash shook his head, and absentmindedly began fumbling with the hem of his jacket. "It's not that. I just want to do something, I can't just sit and wait when one of my best friends … is dead."

Paul supposed he could relate to that, but still he wished he hadn't come to Ecruteak. It made everything even more complicated than it already was.

* * *

Finally dressed, Dawn hardly felt better than before. Her throat mimicked sandpaper, rough and horribly _dry_. She had been thirsty for a while now and ignored it, but now it was almost as though the aridity was spreading through her entire body, fast and desperate.

"Are you finished? Then get inside the car, we don't have much time left!" It sounded from the front of the vehicle.

Dawn pushed the feeling away, and opened the door to the passenger's seat. A flush of leather, stale air and something _sweet_ hit her with such intensity it almost made her topple over.

"Dear, are you okay?"

The woman inched closer, head tilted, in order to have a better view of her face.

Dawn sensed a coil inside her stretching, and then snapping.

_She had to drink. _

Her legs gave away and she broke down. She tried to steady herself with her hands on something, anything that was close by, yet there was nothing. There wasn't a thing.

Her vision went black.

For some indefinable reason, her mouth was watering now and her teeth felt unusually sharp. Weird. Blinking rapidly, she tried to re-attain sight. She could make out some sort of shadow in front of her, talking to her, and — so bright, why was it so bright. When she blinked again, it was too slow, everything was suddenly inconsequential. The words the shadow was talking were running together, melting into each other, leaving nothing behind but her and. Skin. She had to move quickly, because her teeth, like razors, they were hot and painful and they _itched_.

Red. Splattering. It was fluttering and nice, filling her body, filling in all the empty spaces until her body was hers again, solid and her own, and ah.

Her thirst was gone.

* * *

Paul told Ash everything that had happened. He had no choice. Pretending wasn't an option with Ash, and neither was denying him the information he wanted, even if the idea of him knowing made his stomach turn. He didn't do apologies well.

Ash looked at him, eyes steady and insistent — those eyes that could breach any defense, any wall.

"Paul," he said. "I have a favor to ask of you. Please help me find Dawn's murderer."

The words were like a final verdict, sentencing Paul to the task without any possibility of refusal. He sucked in a deep breath to calm the rushing blood drumming in his ears. "I guess." He swallowed thickly. "I guess I owe you that much."

"It wasn't your fault."

Paul grimaced, a faint twinge bolting through his chest.

It wasn't yours either, he thought, and yet you're here.

"I know," he lied.

* * *

The inside of the VW was stained with blood.

Dawn stared at the sight before her in horror. The woman lay limp in front of her, sprawled over the front seats at an odd angle. She tried to say something, but her tongue tightened around the syllables as if to keep them from leaking out.

Gently she took the body into her arms, and cried.

* * *

"So what's the plan?"

Ash looked sheepish. "I don't really have one. I don't suppose asking the Jennies will help?"

Paul snorted. "All they're going to tell you is that information concerning the investigation is off limits for civilians. Especially once they see me."

"Well," Ash said, and paused. "The only other person who might know something is Morty, isn't he?"

Paul shot him a skeptical look. "How do you figure?"

"He's the gym-leader," Ash said off-handedly, as though that explained everything.

Paul mulled it over. "Fair enough. Though I don't believe the guards are going to let us pass the gate without an application."

"Why even bother with those when we could just call him personally?"

And so they did.

Morty was more than compliant upon learning the reason for their call and agreed to meet them in his flat behind the gym that evening.

Ash was giddy with excitement. Obviously he expected some great discoveries from their talk with Morty. Paul wasn't so sure. Okay, so Morty was kind of a big deal in Ecruteak because of his status, but what importance did he hold aside from that? Probably not enough for the police to confide significant leads to him. Still, it was worth a shot. Maybe he could give them something proper to start with, something that would hint them in the right direction. Albeit, in all honesty, Paul didn't think they were going to accomplish much with this pseudo Ace Detective thing. They were just two brats, barely adults, not Sherlock Holmes.

In his agitation Ash decided that he was hungry and dragged Paul to the pokémon center's cafeteria. It was a good thing Ash was such a successful trainer, otherwise the bill might have posed a bit of a problem.

They spent the rest of the afternoon telling each other the latest tales from their journeys, what kind of pokémon they had caught and which strategies they'd invented recently. Paul was almost comfortable as he recited one of his latest gym matches, but he could see the tension in Ash's posture while listening.

(Pictures began spiraling down in his mind, images of blood, screaming, and girls as ethereal as snow. They did not add up, did not fall into place like pieces of a puzzle, but dismantled until there was just an empty, dark pit left.)


	5. of your

When Paul and Ash arrived at the gate to the gym, it was not the two monks waiting for them, but Morty himself. He welcomed them briefly, and then led them through the woods until the imposing form of the Ecruteak City Gym appeared before them. They entered it at the back, probably a faster way to get to the small part of the building belonging to Morty's apartment than the main entrance.

As Morty brewed some tea, Paul and Ash had claimed the sofa in the narrow living room opposing the kitchen, and waited for their host. Once in a while one or two ghastly would float through a wall, trying to frighten the foreign visitors, but got bored pretty soon, because Paul hardly even so much as blinked and Ash kept on yelling at them for being rude and generally unpleasant.

Eventually Morty returned with three steaming cups and some sugar.

"Help yourself," he urged and spooned a rather frightening amount of sugar into his mug.

Paul eyed him in a mix of amazement and disgust while Ash was chugging his drink in one go.

"It was a good decision to come to me," Morty said after a while. "I have some news for you, but I want something in return."

Paul's expression hardened. He had anticipated that things most likely wouldn't go as smoothly as planned, still, he hadn't expected _this_. After all, if Morty really was influential enough to obtain internal-police knowledge, then what could he possibly want from two semi-famous pokémon trainers like Ash and him?

Ash crossed his arms and tried to look what he probably considered intimidating. "And what's that?"

"I want you to help me with something. If you agree, I'll tell you everything you want to know."

Paul glanced at Ash, then at Morty. He seemed oddly serious despite his default smile. Paul had the distinct feeling that there was something the gym leader was deliberately withholding from them – this whole thing screamed trap, no matter how he looked at it – and that nothing good could possibly come out of it.

"Care to elaborate?" he asked and hoped he sounded irritated enough for Morty to let on a little more about his conditions than "something".

"Why should I?" Morty leant back in his armchair and a dark shadow flashed across his face. "_You_'re the ones asking something of _me_, and there aren't many other sources for you to pick from concerning this topic, are there? Therefore I don't see why I should be negotiating with you at all."

Paul hated to admit that he kind of had a point. Even if Morty needed them, too, he clearly had the advantage. Without him they had absolutely nowhere to start from, maybe not even with him.

Next to him Ash was chewing on his lower lip in agitation. It seemed like he had reached the same conclusion.

"Fine," he spat, evidently uncomfortable with the development of his plan, but what alternative was there? It was either this or Dawn's murderer might never be brought to justice, and all he would be able to do was mourn at her grave.

"Wonderful," Morty said, and his pupils contracted. "Now I have one simple question for you. What do you think I am?"

Ash was the quickest to answer. "I don't think I should say that out loud."

"This isn't a joke, kid." Morty scowled. "You have no idea what you've gotten yourselves into and that's why you need to listen to me now if you really want to know what happened to your friend."

* * *

By the time her savior moved again, a small puddle of blood had formed around the woman's head. Instantly Dawn rushed over to her and helped her up. The woman coughed and moaned as she fumbled for the back of her neck, which was almost entirely covered with blood.

With her left hand pressed onto it and Dawn's support, she stood up. At eye level she appeared alarmingly weak, and her whole body was shivering. The sight drove tears into Dawn's eyes. She didn't know her very well or long, but she felt a deep connection with her in her heart. She felt so sorry.

"What happened?" she whispered.

The woman smiled bitterly. "It's not your fault," she panted. "It's mine. Everything is."

"Please," Dawn said. "Tell me what happened."

* * *

"My story is a long and complicated one, and a lot of it won't make much sense to you. Some parts might cause you to question my sanity, but I will be telling the truth.

"The girl — your friend — she was neither killed by a human nor a pokémon." His head hung low, his voice sounded hollow and unbelievably ancient. "It was a vampire."

"W-what", Ash choked, eyes wide.

Paul stared at Morty, insides twisting back and forth with a sensation he couldn't quite pin down. He could tell by looking at the gym leader that he was serious, and yet it was ridiculous. Vampires were a myth, a work of fiction. A grown man like Morty should know that better than anyone else.

"You're crazy," he said.

"No. I am the living proof of their existence."

For a second, Paul contemplated if he should leave before the conversation could get any more insane, but he knew Ash would stay. And if Ash stayed, Paul did, too. He couldn't escape the feeling of obligation toward him. Probably never would.

"I myself am not a vampire," Morty went on. He really looked old now. It was a shift in the way he carried himself, as though his true self finally pushed the young and good-natured Morty aside, unleashing an aged, a tired one.

"My story begins eighty years ago. I was seventeen at that time, an apprentice of the gym-leader, Ebony. She was a queen among women, one of a kind, stormy but gentle-hearted. I loved her, and although I was sure she felt the same way about me, she always put up a front when I attempted to get close. I never understood why, until I decided to confront her. None of her fears could be large enough for us not to overcome them, of that I was sure. Apparently I'd convinced her too, because then she revealed to me the origin of her worries: she was a vampire."

He heaved a deep sigh. "Naturally I reacted like you did, I was incredulous, but then it struck me. I had never seen her in daylight, we always trained inside the gym, and every window in the gym was covered with a dark curtain.

"She was telling the truth, a truth I could not handle. I was frightened. You see, back then people still were quite superstitious and actually believed in the myths about monsters and ghosts that circulated in the region. Only a few decades ago this mentality changed, after modern civilization had finally hit Ecruteak City.

"Anyway, I was an ignorant coward and ran away. My love was not strong enough in the end. And then, a few days later, a series of the most gruesome murders began. The victims were brutally attacked, ripped open and drained of their blood. They were all male, blond and with brown eyes. When I read about it in the newspaper, I knew immediately who the murderer was and what they were really after. The following night I went to see Ebony in her gym. She wasn't there so I waited for her to come back. Shortly before sunrise, in the early morning hours, she returned. Her hands and clothes were stained with blood, her eyes were cold. It was a horrible sight. I told her I was sorry for leaving her like I did. But it was a lie. I was still afraid of her and couldn't comprehend her reasons. She sensed that, and lunged for me. I was frozen in shock. In that moment the sun rose and she evaporated into dust right before my eyes."

Lost in memories he was stirring the spoon in his empty mug in slow circles, and Paul caught himself almost pitying him.

* * *

The world didn't matter. In fact, nothing really mattered. Nothing but _her._

Dawn understood everything perfectly now: her role, her duty, her fate, her _luck_. She belonged to her now. It was only natural, a logical consequence. They were connected. And that made her purpose clear.

"How are you feeling?"

"Oh, just fine again, dear."

Dawn smiled as overwhelming relief spread through her body. Carefully she rested her head on her savior's chest and intertwined their fingers. With her free hand she caressed the spot on her neck where her teeth had sunk into untarnished skin. Now not even a scar was left.

How beautiful, Dawn thought. Everything about this woman was so beautiful, so complete. And she, Dawn, was her creation.

"I love you, Mother," she said, and knew she could never let her go.


	6. hand

When Paul turned seven, his mother died and he learnt that death is unfair. It doesn't care about the people whose lives it takes, good or bad, young or old, it doesn't matter.

Not only death — the entire world is unfair. The whole place is an unforgiving, an indifferent arena. You can't explain it, you can't explain _the world_, but you can learn how it works. The rules aren't hard to understand as long as you don't question them.

And he hadn't. He'd followed them obediently, and followed and followed and now he was here, stuck in a car with the possibly murderous, certainly alienating gym leader of Ecruteak City. It wasn't that he was upset, he was used to injustice by now, after all. It was more that he was confused. Why did he feel like listening to Morty's vampire ramblings instead of casually brushing them aside as mere insanity? Insanity was acceptable, logical. Vampires, myths and legends weren't. It was so _easy_ just to stand up, tell Morty what a retard he was for believing in what he did, take Ash and leave. Would be. Would be easy, but somehow his body didn't budge at all. His own selfish desire for change, for the thrill of the chase, was too large and forced him to stay in his seat. It wasn't because of Ash. _He_ _wanted_ Morty to engage him into his theories, _wanted_ vampires to exist. W_anted_ something to _do_.

Pressing his mouth into a thin line, he waited for the gym leader to continue.

"A few years after Ebony had died, I set out to a journey through all of Johto. In Violet City I met the son of the local gym-leader, we battled and became friends. Since we lived so far apart from each other — travelling still demanded a lot of time and effort back then — we chose to write each other letters over taking long, straining trips. One day one of our mail delivery pidgey arrived with the news that his father had died. I left to visit him as fast as I could. When I was finally in Viola, the funeral was already long over and he had fallen into a devastated state. But that wasn't the only thing about him that was different. He'd become a child of the night, a vampire. I'm not sure how, but I saw the difference immediately. Maybe it was because of my earlier contact with a vampire.

"I don't know the details about his Turning, he never told me and I never asked. That held little significance for us. He desperately needed my help, and I don't only mean simple assistance during a period of grieving. He'd been a vampire for about two months and he hadn't — fed ever since. He refused to bite humans or pokémon. So I saw myself faced with the task to find a way to save him from starving to death."

"How do you do _that_?" Ash interjected.

Morty gave a small grin, a sign of his young self gradually regaining control over his memories.. "I started researching in libraries and even in occult sects in order to find something, but it was taking too long. My friend's state was worsening with each new day, and so I stole banked blood from the pokémon center. This went on for a few months until I found something in a very old book I had ordered from a library in Sinnoh. It was the diary of a scientist living during the past century, who was studying ancient documents about supernatural occurrences in his region. For that time, this wasn't a weird thing to do, vampires and other 'Downworlders', as they were called, were still considered real, but the sightings of paranormal activities had become scarce. He was forced to look in medieval reports, and noted down everything he discovered about the behavior and characteristics of Downworlders. That was very helpful for me, because that included detailed insights about vampires and rituals concerning them. With this diary I learnt what vampires actually were, and got all the answers I had been looking for. I had found a method to save my friend from changing into a savage monster."

"One of the rituals, it's commonly called 'the Vow' among vampires today, one of the rituals in that book was his — no — _our_ rescue. It is a contract between a vampire and a human, and nowadays it's considered very old-fashioned. Back then we thought it the only way out of our misery."

He sighed, seeming hesitant to go further.

"How does it work?"

"It's rather simple, really. An exchange of blood takes place between vampire and human, as well as the promise to be connected to each other with heart and soul forever. However, this promise is not to be taken lightly and demands absolute devotion from both. When it's finished, the human becomes the vampire's source of life, and the human is granted the vampire's eternal lifespan. However, if the vampire ever drinks the blood of another human being, he dies, and the human along with him. And in return, if the human ever allows another vampire to drink his blood, he dies, and his contractor along with him. Their lives are weaved together; one cannot exist without the other. That is the essential principle of that ritual."

Paul was torn between admiration and incomprehension. "And you performed it on your friend and you?" he asked.

Morty smiled vaguely. "Yes," he said and it was evident in his tone that it had succeeded, he had been able to save his friend and given up his mortality in the process. Possibly even his humanity.

* * *

Another bone cracked and it sounded unnaturally loud in this empty street. Dawn began to get bored. She watched the man panting and writhing in the pain of his back breaking, unable to utter the simplest noise. The agony he was going through was too great for him. If she didn't start soon, he would be dead by shock, silly weak human, and then it would be too late; dead blood doesn't taste very nice. It has to be fresh, with the warmth of life still lingering, before it enters the body and it gets cold.

He looked at her pleadingly, as if he were poor and innocent, just another victim, and Dawn thought he should have stayed at home at this time of night where he fucking _belonged_. She was going to teach him, all of them, what she had never learnt when she'd been still alive.

Her teeth made an ugly sound when they crashed into his neck, and she didn't love it, she hated every second, because it would never be enough.

* * *

That night Paul decided to do some training, in order to clear his mind and determine what to do next. He left Ash at the pokémon center and wandered around town for a while until he arrived at an empty soccer field. As good a training ground as any.

For the next few hours he and his pokémon completed session after session as he reflected the events of the day.

In retrospect the whole thing had been extremely stupid. Sans knowing what was going to happen to them, they'd made a bargain with Morty, who claimed to be a_lmost eighty years old_ as a consequence of making a contract with a _vampire_ to be his living blood bank for the rest of their lives.

Paul still remembered vividly how Morty had told them to help him find the vampire, who he was convinced was Dawn's murderer, and to stop him before he could kill anyone else. Paul had pointed out that this was loony-talk and he should know better than to believe they were going to agree, honestly. Ash had been eerily silent. Paul had been able to guess why. Morty had reminded them that they had already accepted the deal, and Ash had simply nodded, before wordlessly returning to the pokémon center.

And now they were waiting for instructions on how, where and when to operate next. Paul wished he wasn't so weak, so dependent on Morty's vampire story, but he couldn't stop himself, he needed it. He'd been bored for years now, defeating gyms and leagues until it was nothing more than a way to kill time. Besides, he had an unpleasant feeling about this whole thing, he'd rather not leave Ash alone with Morty and his fantasies.

The sky was a pitch-black bowl when Paul and his pokémon had reached a point where standing alone was becoming difficult business. Exhausted, he slumped down onto the wet grass, calling back Torterra and Magmotar, and wiped the sweat from his face with the right sleeve of his jacket.

The air was mild for spring, and windless. Everything was quiet, except for a distant cracking noise, as if someone was stepping on old branches of a tree. Paul looked around and could make out a shadow at the other end of the field. It was approaching him.

He stood up, shaking and tired, and grabbed for one of his pokéballs.

In the dim light of the street lamps from across the street the figure took on the outlines of a person, probably female, dressed in white. It almost appeared like the fabric was glowing in the dark.

Paul swallowed, hard.

Dawn's face was arranged in a sweet, adulterated smile, lips dark and ready; her hands and the lower half of her dress were soaked with blood.

Paul suddenly felt the pathetic urge to throw up. Dawn must have noticed, because she began to laugh, high and sharp, and really, it was hilarious, in a deranged, screwed-up sort of way — _a fucking cosmic joke_. It had to be.

But then her mouth twisted into something new and dark. "I'm disappointed," she said, voice cold and raw. "_You_'re the one who killed me?"

Paul blinked and thought, she doesn't remember me — it was almost too much for him to grasp —, just like I never remembered her. Only a moment later it occurred to him that _she was accusing him of her murder_.

"What?" he breathed, his palm sweating against the lukewarm material of his pokéball.

"You're extremely underwhelmed for someone standing face to face with a person who's supposed to be dead."

"So you're not?" Something in his mouth itched at the words. "Dead, I mean."

There was something dangerous about the way his sense of danger awakened when she said, "I am," and smiled at him haughtily. "Who told you about me?"

Paul shrugged, almost offensively casual. Snarling, Dawn lunged at him, caught him by the neck and knocked him over.

"_Who_?" she hissed.

He wheezed, her gripe like that of a wrestler. "Why do you think_ I_ killed you?"

She scoffed. "Well, it's hard to believe, considering you're this weak, isn't it?"

"Worried about my health, _sweetie_?" he leered and promptly earned a punch in the face for it. Blood was dripping from his nose, running hotly backwards down his throat. He suspected it might be broken.

"Why did you do this to me?" the girl screamed, her cold mask suddenly slipping, and tightened her hold on his neck. "How can you be like this although I could — I can —"

Paul snickered and choked a little on the blood. "I knew it," he said, "that you weren't that tough. You haven't changed at all and you never will, even if you're not human anymore. You'll never be more than an obnoxious little girl who likes pink."

Despite her outburst she didn't seem as hurt as he'd anticipated. "I know your face," she said, surprisingly calm. Even so her free hand was trembling. "Who are you?"

"I thought you were convinced that I was your killer?"

"You're good at playing games, but that won't save you, in the end." Finally she let go of him, stood up, dusted off her thighs. "I don't have the permission to kill you at the moment so I'll let you go, for now," she announced, before she casually walked away, dead and alive at the same time. He kept watching her until she blended into the darkness of the night as though she had never been there.


	7. and

**Notes:** After seemingly endless months of editing and rewriting all chapters of _Mortal_, the revised versions are all finally available on this site now. If you have read them before, I highly suggest you do it one more time, not only to refresh your memory, but also to catch up on the various changes, writing- as well as plot-wise, that I have made since my last update.  
**Notes 2:** Please do let me know what you think and review!

* * *

Paul stayed in the dark alley for another two hours, before he finally picked himself up and went back to the poké center. Or maybe it was just one hour and a half. By then he was too tired to care about such trivialities like time.

The center's entrance hall was dark and deserted, only from Nurse Joy's private quarters spilled a few weak rays of light onto the wooden floor. Narrowly Paul dragged himself upstairs into his room and let himself fall onto his bed.

That night he had no difficulties falling asleep.

Skipping breakfast, Paul headed to the gym the next morning. Ash was probably still sleeping. If Paul was lucky, he wouldn't realize he'd been gone in the first place, not mention where he'd been, when he was back. Little did he know he would never make it.

This time he didn't even bother with the front gate. Without permission the monks would never let him inside the compound, thus he let Torterra lift him over the walls with its vine whip and made his way through the forest. It took him a while to find the path, but once he knew where he was, it was the matter of mere seconds until he had found the familiar building of Ecruteak City Gym.

Ignoring the main entrance, he rounded the complex and started pounding against the back door. A few minutes passed, then a rather disgruntled Morty appeared before him.

"It's eight o'clock in the morning," he growled. Paul noticed the shadows under his eyes and that he wasn't wearing pajamas, but crumpled jeans and an old washed-out shirt. He probably had stayed up almost all night and never even gotten a chance to change.

"I've got something to tell you."

"Does this have to be now?" Morty heaved a sigh. "Okay, stupid question. Come in."

Together they ascended the stairs to his apartment.

Fixing his guest and himself something to drink, Morty resumed their conversation. "So," he said. "What is so important that it cannot wait until another few more hours?"

Paul stared at the kitchen floor. He noticed that it was made of marble, white marble, with hundreds of thousands of edgy, harsh lines in it. Like traces or cuts. Endlessly on-going cuts. She was like the marble floor. He was the guy stepping on it, and simultaneously admiring it.

"Last night," he began and forced himself to direct his stare elsewhere. "I saw her."

Morty froze. For one long minute he did nothing but stand at the kitchen counter and hold an empty mug in the air. Then he slowly, mechanically put it down, switched off the stove and sat down beside Paul.

"I know," he said, as though the question had been asked.

The man next to him let out something that might have been a weep. "We have to kill her, too," he whispered.

"I know."

* * *

Dawn spent the rest of the night in front of the mirror in the hallway of her mother's house until the sun started to climb up the hills behind Ecruteak City, and it was time to go to bed. When her savior, who had just gotten up because of some daytime business she needed to take care of, asked her what she had done in front of that mirror, Dawn had no answer. She mumbled something about being tired and went to sleep. Or she tried to at least, but it took her over two hours before she finally fell into a restless, dream-filled slumber.

_It's summer; the sky is unbelievably blue and infinite, only a few meaningless shreds of puffy white float across it now and then. Dawn sits in a vast green field together with her travelling companions Ash and Brock, their pokémon are playing in the nearby river. The day has been going peacefully without any disturbances, not even Team Rocket has shown up. The three friends have finally found a chance to take a break from their hectic saving-the-world-and-becoming-champions schedule, and just talk. Suddenly Ash brings up his rival (because Brock had mentioned stinkhorns). Dawn thinks how she hates that guy – what was his name again? – and his horrible attitude. She wants to ask the others what he was called so she can insult him properly, but then their names are gone as well. Her mind has abruptly and frighteningly fast become an empty void, just like the sky. She can't even remember her own name or how she got here. And who the hell is she, anyway?_

"_You are a monster," a distant voice answers. If dust had voice, it would sound like this. _

It was still midday when Dawn woke up. Her body felt like ice, her eyes itched.

All of the curtains were drawn in her mother's bedroom; even so Dawn could tell that it was the perfect spring weather outside, with lots of sun and birds singing their songs everywhere.

She did not know why, but a part of her was tempted to open the curtains and hold her body out into the sunlight, just to see what would happen, but the loyalty toward her mother bound her to the mattress.

* * *

"What are we going to tell Ash?"

The corners of Morty's mouth twitched, expression as hard as steel.

"Well, what?"

"Nothing." Morty said finally, Paul eying him in disbelief, and sucked in a deep breath. "We can't tell him. He wouldn't let us—"

"Of course not," Paul cut in, and scoffed. "She's one of his closest friends. But that doesn't mean we should lie to him."

"Do you have a better idea, then?"

Paul had to admit that, no, he did not. Not after he had met her yesterday, and seen the way she had worn the blood on her body like expensive jewelry.

He shook his head in defeat.

* * *

Her mother returned remarkably late, only half an hour after sunrise was she finally home. She looked jaded and worn down, her hands were covered in burns from the sun.

"Mother!" Dawn exclaimed, shocked at her poor sight. Gingerly, she helped the woman out of her coat and took her bag. Her savior seemed grateful for the assistance. She gave Dawn a kiss on the forehead, and together the two of them proceeded to the bed.

"Tomorrow's the night, dear," she said as she lay down, her eyes glowing in the dark.

Dawn stood still and stared at the woman, eyes wide with surprise, joy and something else she couldn't quite define. It was an unpleasant feeling, gnawing and pulling at her dead heart.

"R-really?" she breathed.

"I have him right where I want him. Now you'll receive justice."

Pushing that strange sensation aside, Dawn thanked her with her blood.

* * *

After Morty had let him out, Paul pondered whether he should go straight back to the pokémon center or if he should grab something to eat first. He decided on the latter, and headed in the direction of a small café he had passed on his way to the gym. Rounding the corner of a narrow alley, he almost collided with the bike of an officer.


End file.
